Micanth Ever After
by Fury me
Summary: This isn’t about proving anything. It’s about working for a friendship so deep that the line between gets very thin. So thin, sometimes there are no boundaries at all. And that’s when it starts getting interesting. DMHG.
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** Hi there! It's my first official HP story, and my first take on DMHG, which I have to say when written well is my favourite pairing ^^ Let's see how we go? Set after the series finish, with me having messed up a few minor details (:

**Editing. Currently reviewing my writing, before I do any more destruction. Chapters and content might shift around a little. Sorry for not being more organized! XD It has been a while since I've read the HP series, if I've blundered into something please don't hesitate to point it out!

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter belongs to JKR, and is only allowed out to play with the plotbunny

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- CHAPTER ONE -

**Ode to the Dead**

Hermione pushed her window open, reveling in another morning. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and started her day in the bathroom.

It had been only a few months since Voldemort's final demise. Things were far from going back to normal. The destruction wasn't purely physical. The vicious scars left in the entire wizarding psyche would take generations to heal. But they would, slowly. The Ministry was slowly pulling themselves together, slowly wading their way through the chaos of broken towns and their broken people.

And Hogwarts? The old school that they'd all lived and loved remained, like everything else damaged physically and emotionally. At night the school's various in habitants wailed their own sorrow, and during the day halls were eerily silent. Like everything else, the school also needed time to heal.

And time did pass. Wounds healed, pain dulled. But memories never faded.

Hermione stepped out of the shower, her skin feeling warm and fresh. She dried her hair, and went to pick out something to wear. Tonight was a rare night – tonight, the scraps of the Ministry had thrown together a Ball. It was to get everyone together, to start becoming a united community again. There was no guest list. Everyone who wanted to come were invited. Too raw in people's minds were the consequences of prejudice.

Since there was no guest list, Hermione had no idea – outside her circle of friends – who would be attending. She had lost contact with so many of the people she couldn't say she was close with, but they were always there. Like trees in a park, or fish in water, she had just expected them to be always there. Schoolmates, shopkeepers. So many who should still be here weren't.

She sniffed, and scolded herself. What was with all this moping? Ginny would be awake any time now, if she didn't even have a dress on she'd be in for some serious lip.

.

"Hey Hermione!"

She spun around. Harry waved at her, a glowing Ginny by his side. She relaxed into an easy smile – this would be the first time in a while that she, Harry and all the Weasleys would be able to get together again. She'd apparated back from her parents' yesterday to stay at the Weasley's, but Harry had only arrived this afternoon. Still the morale booster, he had been busying helping out the wizarding community in various ways.

When they got close enough, she gave Harry a tight hug. "How are you?" She whispered.

"M'alright," he replied softly, letting her go so he could smile at her. She smiled back, a little hesitatingly. They would need to have a long talk later – she felt like it had been months, not weeks, since se had last seen him. Lack of sleep, worry, stress all showed on him, and it made her worry. Ginny closed in on her, gripping her tightly.

"Stop worrying Hermione," she murmured. "Just for tonight. Tonight is when we all start over again."

She nodded, wearing a silly grin as she realized she was crying.

"Now what are you doing that for?" Ron had pushed his way through the crowd, his shock of red hair contrasting pukingly with his green robes.

"Ron!" Ginny stared at her brother in horror, ignoring his open arms. His grin sagged a little.

He turned to Harry. "What? What is it?"

Harry coughed behind his hand, but then his body jerked and it triggered a real coughing fit that had them distracted. Hermione laughed, and pulled Ron into a hug. "Ronald Weasley. Don't ever change." She said fiercely.

He patted her awkwardly on the back. "Er, no problem Hermione." When she didn't let go straight away, he melted a little, and hugged her for real. "Yeah. It's good to see you."

"Come on," Ginny prompted, "Let's get our table."

With five to a table, they had been one person short so Harry pulled an old trick and had invited Luna Lovegood. The dreamy girl turned up in a very Muggle dress, the silver material flowing like water over her skin. Ginny squealed at her, and the two friends started chatting happily about it. Hermione grinned at Ron's expression as he struggled to come up with something witty to say before she walked over to join the girl talk. Harry thumped Ron on the back.

"Cough it up, Buddy."

"Erwha?" Ron coughed. "What?"

"Hello Harry. Hello Ronald." Luna said, her voice just as dreamy but her eyes sparkled brightly. "It's good to see everyone again."

"It really is," Hermione agreed enthusiastically. "What have you been up to, Luna?"

"Oh, nothing much. Daddy's been fixing up the place, I've been helping here and there. But I think my room had been hit the hardest, because there's so much more to fix up there. Daddy's done the living room, the kitchen and the bathroom all by himself, and my room still keeps getting cracks in the floor!"

Harry and Hermione grinned at each other. They'd both bet quite a lot that damage had a lot less to do with Luna helping out in the more public parts of the house and a lot more to do with her questionable taste of decor.

"So. Who else is here?" Ron asked as he inspected the shiny silverware. Luna – much to Hermione's glee – sat down next to Ron, and he almost dropped his fork. Ginny fingered the overflowing floral centerpiece, and Harry leaned over to pluck one from the bouquet and tuck it behind her ear. They smiled at each other, and Hermione looked away, smiling.

Yes, wounds healed.

After the great hall was more or less filled (and expanded twice as large groups of unaccounted for foreign witches and wizards kept appearing) the new Minister for Magic, Barnaby Strife, stood up and cleared his throat for a speech.

In Harry's opinion (as he worked closely with different parts of the Ministry), the man would've been the best leader the Ministry had seen for some generations, if only he hadn't lost his wife in the war. Things were cut far too close to home, and the good man had broken some inside. That aside, he still had an excellent reputation, and had earned the respect and approval of many. He raised his glass, and all eyes turned to him.

He spoke simple words. "My dear friends. We gather here today, in celebration. We celebrate a new beginning, new life, and new ways. We celebrate the end of this great terror that has been the shadow to our bright lives for so very long. We celebrate the strength and courage and most importantly, we celebrate the love that has held us together when times seemed most…" His words trailed off unexpectedly. They all leaned in to see what had the man bowing his head.

The Minister was fighting tears, and the air crackled as every beating heart went out to him. When Strife lifted his head again, his face shined wetly, but his smile was fierce and true. "Let us forgive our enemies, forget old rivals. Great sacrifices have been made to ensure the survival of our peace, and we must do all we can to honour those sacrifices. So I ask you all to raise your glasses." He lifted his above his balding head. "To friendship, and loyalty." His eyes found Harry's in the crowd, and they shared a small nod. "To new beginnings. And to our beloved ones we have lost. Lest we forget."

The hall filled with voices, layers upon layers of murmurs.

"_Lest we forget._"

.

The rest of the ball was indeed more of a celebration. The music was simple – charmed instruments played faultlessly as their players were allowed to mingle with friends, old new and lost. The five of them moved through the crowd, saying hi and hugging and laughing.

Hermione fanned herself. "Come with me to get drinks?" she asked Luna.

"Yes, alright." She smiled, sashaying off in her silver dress. Hermione narrowed her eyes, not believing that the girl could not see how much she had changed. The girl was _stunning_. Not one call of Loony had reached their ears, not even when she had stubbornly started pointing at people faces and said they were badly infested with Nargles.

Hermione walked quicker, catching up with Luna at the food table. "Punch? Or something stronger?"

"Stronger, definitely stronger."

She spun around, to see Draco Malfoy leaning against said table, his grin lazy and his hand outstretched.

She looked him up and down. It was him alright – Draco Malfoy, everything from the slicked back blonde hair to the smirk that never went beyond his mouth. Hermione forced herself to be civil.

"Malfoy."

He nodded and shrugged at the same time, as if to say, 'who else?'

"Hello there Draco." Luna smiled at him from behind Hermione, "How very nice that to see that you're alright." And drifted off with her apple juice.

Malfoy stared. "Whoever's trying to help that girl conform to society needs to consider a visit to Mungo's psych ward."

"Don't be cruel," Hermione snapped. There was nothing wrong with Luna – especially compared to those very real patients at St. Mungo's.

Malfoy stared at her, irritated and amused at the same time. It created the strangest line to zigzag down his forehead. "So, going to get me that drink, Granger?"

"Get it yourself. I'm not your hired help." She turned around, hurrying back to Harry and Ron.

Ginny was busy gossiping with one of her Hogwarts classmates and Luna was nodding at their conversation (you couldn't actually tell if she was paying attention or not), sipping her apple juice demurely. Harry and Ron had decided they needed a new scene and were about to make their way to another part of the hall. They both stopped when they saw Hermione's expression.

"What happened?" they asked automatically.

"Nothing," she replied just as automatically, "Just some loser who thought I was the bartender."

.

The ball had closed with a definite note of hope in the air. Many social deals had been closed that night, and plans were being made for serious reconstruction and repairs from all sides – for example, the cleaning and restoration of Diagon Alley, which shouldn't have taken more than a few days, but the locating of each shop's owner had proven a rather difficult task.

Sometime during, Barnaby Strife had floated over for a chat.

"And how is everyone here?" He asked jovially. "Harry, you need to get some more food into you. Weasley, you're getting into the Christmas spirit like there's no tomorrow! Hermione, lovely to see you, as always. I hope that you are well."

Perhaps it should've felt more odd, that a bunch of barely-legals were on first name terms with the Minister of Magic. But Hermione had gotten used to it. They could never have escaped the fame and... _glory_ that followed their actions. It was nice though. She was deep in conversation with the Minister about the merits of getting a job with the Ministry (she wasn't sure that an Auror was now still her best course of action) when Strife suddenly waved at someone over her shoulder.

"Draco! Over here!" He shouted.

Hermione turned around in disbelief. Malfoy had his mouth wide open, just about to pop a tart into it as he was called. He froze for a second, shrugged again, and walked over, taking a bite of the dessert at he walked.

"Minister," he bobbed his head. He turned to Hermione, and that familiar smirk twisted his lips. "Granger."

"You know each other! I had always thought that the friendships formed within Hogwarts were exquisite."

"Exquisite isn't quite the word you're looking for there, Minister." Harry had seen Malfoy walk up, and had suddenly appeared on Hermione's other side. He wasn't as hostile as he once would've been, but cautionary.

"Nor is friendship." Ron muttered, standing behind Harry, every bit as hostile as he had always been.

Draco's lazy expression twitched, but he knew better than to voice whatever quip he had in front of the Minister.

Barnaby looked around at the four people, but his expression was not confused, but crestfallen. "After all that's happened, tussles between schoolmates still stand so strong?"

Hermione was immediately ashamed, and ducked her head. "Minister, it's really not like that." She said quickly, but earnestly. "We just haven't seen each other for so long, and we haven't really had time to work out our differences."

Harry and Ron shared looks, but Malfoy's expression was musing. The Minister's expression cleared up a little at her explanation, and then brightened. "Is that it?" He looked around, and the other three nodded, albeit a little reluctantly. Barnaby nodded. "Then we shall have to fix this. The Ministry is throwing another party, just for their staff, as a little back-on-our-feet thing. I was wondering if you four would attend, as my special guests?"

They looked at each other. Specifically, Harry, Ron and Hermione looked at each other. Draco seemed to have a talent of mind-reading or whatever because nothing that had come out of the Minister's mouth seemed to surprise him.

After they had agreed (Hermione insisted) the Minister had been called away by another man. Ron rounded on Draco. "We're not friends, we're not going to know each other better, and - "

"Save yourself the dramatic act, Weasley," Malfoy said coldly. "Do you really think that I would want your company? Things haven't changed _that_ much."

"Don't do this," Hermione interjected, physically putting herself between the two boys. "This isn't good for us. Remember what the Minister said? _Let us forgive our enemies, forget old rivals. Great sacrifices have been made to ensure the survival of our peace, and we must do all we can to honour those sacrifices_. You," she rounded on Ron, "Respect that. You," she snapped her head back to Draco, "Stop making things difficult. I know you have an innate talent for rubbing people the wrong way, so just shut your trap, okay?"

Ron nodded meekly, probably happier about the fact Malfoy got told off a bit more than he did. Malfoy's expression had gone flat again, though it looked like he was fighting back something to say. Hermione didn't look away from him, determined that they wouldn't squabble like school kids again. They'd seen too much for things like that to have any type of hold on their lives now.

Draco ended up biting back his words, and just walked away. Harry put his hand on Hermione's shoulder. "That was nice of you."

"What? She just told him off! That wasn't being nice." Ron said hotly.

Harry shook his head. "You really might want to think about what the Minister said. Our problem with Malfoy doesn't exist anymore. We're not going to be enemies. Not any more."

"Yeah, because he said he was really, really sorry. Really," Ron rolled his eyes.

"He had the decency to admit to what he did wrong. Everything. Even some things that Wizangemot hadn't even known he had been involved with." Hermione objected.

"And he has been to Azkaban for it." Harry added, quietly. The boy had been sentenced to a year in the wizarding prison, but appeals saw him get out within a few months. His father on the other hand, had a life sentence. Nothing was going to change that.

Ron looked at them both in disbelief, and then scratched his head. "I dunno what's happened to make you two seem so chummy with him," he muttered, "But I'm not convinced. I'll stop trying to piss him off," he added, as Harry and Hermione opened their mouths again, "But I'm not promising you anything more than that. If he does something stupid, or something _Slytherin_, he's gonna get it."

Neither of them asked exactly what Malfoy was going to get. Ginny and Luna appeared again, the first dragging Harry onto the dance floor, and the latter, much to Hermione's amusement, dragged Ron.

"Hey, but, what? Wait!" Ron complained, stumbling awkwardly over his own big feet.

Hermione smiled after them, and went to refill her punch. Someone was already there. She sighed, and even though she had just been arguing his case, irritation laced her tone as Draco sculled the mixture he was making himself.

"What are you doing?" she said impatiently. "Trying to get hammered at a community gathering? Where'd all your class go?"

He turned around, again wearing that strange mix of irritation and amusement on his face. "What are you talking about?" She flicked her head in the direction of his drink. He raised up his glass, "This? Are you serious? Take a whiff." He shoved the cup under her nose. Hermione jerked away, but not before she realized there was nothing alcoholic in that drink. He smirked at her.

"But you said that you wanted something stronger," she said, feeling stupid.

"You didn't give it to me, did you?" He sighed dramatically.

Her eyes narrowed. "What's wrong with you?" she blurted the question. Being mocked didn't usually bring out anyone's good side.

Malfoy stilled. Then he reached for the ladle, and refilled his drink. "Oh, nothing." He tossed his head back as he walked away. "Much."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** I have Ginny apparating in this chapter, and I'm hazarding a guess that the timing's okay? She's only a year younger than Hermione, and since they were doing it by the start of Deathly Hallows it would've been a year (plus few months) since, so Ginny would be old enough, right? XD

And by the way, Merry Christmas!

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter belong to JKR, and is only allowed to play with the plotbunny

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- CHAPTER TWO -

**And I Do?**

Everyone was at the Burrow, and Mrs. Weasley was once again doing her best to accommodate them. It was getting to be an easier task, seeing as there had been an extension put on the house and there was an extra two rooms available. Hermione curled herself up onto the end of the couch, smiling as her eyes touched on everyone there.

There was Bill and Fleur, more in love than ever. His scars had healed some, some had even closed to puckered pink lines. It was obvious that Fleur saw none of that – the glowing love and adoration on her face was undeniable.

Percy and Charlie, the latter jibing the former. Percy was slowly turning red as his pride took repeated hammerings, but then Charlie laughed and punched his brother on the shoulder and Hermione could see a smile through that scowl.

Harry and Ginny, curled up on another chair. Mrs. Weasley had been ecstatic to hear about them, and it only took Mr. Weasley a few hours to be too.

Her heart tugged a little at the sight of Ron and George in the corner. She had no idea how much George was going through. He had lost so much in just that one split second: a brother, the very best friend, and the perfect business partner. They all knew that George had been trying to keep appearance up. But even Hermione would catch George sometimes open his mouth, and then close it again, because that person wasn't there to listen anymore. Ron had been spending more time with his brother, who had rejected him at first but after Ron's persistence (and Harry and Hermione insisted that he persisted) they had become closer.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stood in the kitchen, one person reading out loud and the other cooking and commenting. She caught bits of their conversation. "Really, Arnold, that book is ... what's the chance that ... and anyway, even if..." And Mr. Weasley's replies: "Molly, open up your mind a little. You know ... and that part that ..."

And there was Teddy, holding up his own teddy, his face screwed up in concentration as Luna read to him from the Quibbler. Neville was sitting beside them, laughing nervously when Luna ventured off into the... unknown. "You really think you should be reading that?" He asked.

"Why, yes Neville, he has to know these things." Luna said indignantly. And at the small retort, Neville retreated again, and just settled for watching the pair.

After dinner, Hermione decided to walk off her unbelievably full stomach. Harry stood up to join her, and Ron did too, although grabbing another mince pie on his way out.

"Lovely night, isn't it?" He said with his mouth full.

"Don't chew and talk at the same time," she said seriously.

Harry laughed. "It's too late, Hermione. Old dogs don't learn new tricks."

"Who you calling old?" Ron said indignantly, spraying Harry with crumbs. "Oh, sorry Harry..."

"So how are you Harry, really?" Hermione asked.

Harry thought about it. There was a stretch of silence. "I'm just tired, that's all. The Ministry really is up and running again, but there's so many little things that are still unaccounted for. The Department of Mysteries, for one. They're hesitant about what to do with it, but they also know they don't want to close it down."

"What's that got to do with you mate?"

Harry shrugged. "They think I have an opinion on it."

The truth was Harry never wanted to set foot in that place again. He had wormed his way out of most of those discussions, and slowly, but surely, the Ministry was starting to let go of him as they became more stable.

"I'll be free in another month or so," He yawned, stretching his arms.

"Is that when the party's going to be?" Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged. "Truthfully, I've never heard of it. But maybe it wasn't a big thing anyway."

"Does it worry you?"

"It shouldn't," Ron piped up, having finally swallowed. "It's just a party, Hermione. Don't think anything could go that wrong, even if it tried."

.

She'd been expecting tinkling glasses and chandeliers and cocktails, polite laughter and careful comments. She hadn't been expecting the dance floor, the flashing lights, the sheer _amount_ of alcohol. It seemed like less of a classy soiree amongst adults, and more of a high school reunion. Which, Hermione acknowledged with an easy smile, it might've been. It made sense, slightly. These were just adults who were tired of the charade of everything being alright, and were finally getting a chance to literally let their hair down. Why _they_ were invited though, gnawed at the back of her head.

Harry, Ginny, Ron and Luna seemed to be having a ball though. Harry, Ginny and Hermione had insisted that Ron invite Luna, and after the initial stages of shock, denial, and embarrassment, the redhead finally went and did it. The blabbering mess he'd been then wasn't much of change from the grinning fool her was now though, she thought affectionately.

Finding herself once again by the table of snacks, she turned down an offer to dance and instead refilled her drink, sitting on an uncomfortably plastic chair and plastered an air of worn-out-so-I'm-resting-now about her. That is, until she spotted a familiar (albeit unwanted) head of blonde hair bobbing towards her.

"Malfoy?" she asked hesitatingly, unwillingly, only just remembering that Barnaby Strife had invited him along as well.

He looked up, what seemed like genuine surprise on his face. But when he saw her, all he said was "Oh."

She bit her lip, the automatic dislike from getting to know him over the years fighting with the promise she had made to the Minister just a few weeks before. He noticed her expression, and rolled his eyes as he helped himself to the ice.

"Don't look so constipated, you don't have to talk to me. Strife isn't here."

She looked affronted. "I don't have a problem with talking to you, Malfoy." Strife wasn't here? The Minister of Magic wasn't there to celebrate the rebuilding of the Ministry of Magic? A party that _he'd_ invited them to?

"And I do?" He said innocently. Then he became impatient and dropped the act. "Look, you can't dislike someone for seven years and then turn around and say, 'let's put it all behind us!'. Neither of us want to put in the effort, so let me get my drink and I'll be on my way."

Hermione followed his gaze, to two witches obviously waiting for his company. She made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. He raised an eyebrow at her, then his drink, before making a beeline for them. His look said, clearly, that her opinion really wasn't of any value here. She watched him saunter (okay, she was elaborating) off, annoyed that he was making it so difficult to be civil.

"Hermione!" Ginny stumbled over to her, grinning from ear to ear.

"What's with you?" She tried to smile back, but the encounter with Malfoy had left her sour and it didn't come out right.

Ginny didn't show any signs that she had noticed. "You up to an after party?"

Hermione was wary, "What?"

Ginny laughed at her expression, "Don't worry, I'm just kidding. It's just Harry and Ron are a bit tipsy, and I think Luna is as well. So you're the only person who's still got her head screwed on straight and I want to do something."

"Like what?" Though no longer the studious bookworm, Hermione still preferred a quite park bench with a good book, and lacked Ginny's taste for electric crowds and mingling.

"Nothing over the top," the younger girl said at once, noticing her reluctance, "Actually, anything _you_ want! We haven't spent much time together lately."

Surprised by this turn of events, she thought about it seriously. Ginny, loyal and fierce friend that she was, rarely had the patience for the activities Hermione considered recreational. She fished for an idea that wouldn't disappoint the energetic girl. "Let's go swimming." She said brightly.

Ginny considered it, and obviously thought that she could've done much worse. She grinned, and pranced off to find Harry and tell him that they were leaving early. Hermione went to do the same for Ron and Luna, though found that the two were enjoying the alcohol in a way that she would rather insult a Hippogriff than interrupt, and she thought they'd be back at the Burrow before the two would've regained consciousness. Ron, at the very lest. Hermione didn't know about Luna's alcohol tolerance, but she mused to herself that she wouldn't have been surprised either way. She'd find out tomorrow.

Hermione was all set to go to a swimming pool, but Ginny had convinced her of a beach she knew that was pristine.

"I'm not the only person who knows about it," she had explained, "But guys mostly take their dates out there, you know, to show them that they're romantic and all that." Hermione didn't know, if fact she hadn't ever heard of the place, but she figured Ginny wouldn't be interested in that tidbit. "Even then people don't usually go there – sometimes there's muggles, but most of the time it's just because the sand gets everywhere and it's not really the most comfortable place to get laid."

"_Ginny_!'

To which she swore that all her information was based off Elizabeth Healy, another girl in her dorm who had explained all this to her having had first-hand experience with it.

After re-popping into existence, Hermione stumbled on the soft sand. She looked around, taking in the sights and smells of the deserted beach. Deserted, but as Ginny had said, pristine. It was precisely the lack of humans that allowed the sand and water to stay so clean, the beach grasses and flowers to grow so thickly. The waves weren't big, they lapped gently against the shore, and Hermione had walked a ways out before it even reached her waist.

She was actually enjoying herself – the moonlight, the fresh sea breeze. And then Ginny started stripping.

Hermione almost swallowed seawater. "What are you doing?" Her voice had shot up two octaves.

Ginny looked over to her calmly as she folded her cream blouse. "Hermione, this outfit cost me more money than I'll be willing to spend again in a while. I am _not_ going to swim in it."

"You're a witch! Just – just repair it later!" If 'repair' was the right word to be used for clothes damaged by seawater. How could clothes be damaged by seawater?

Ginny turned, and gave her the closest thing to a scathing look Hermione had ever received. Maybe because she was so rarely the underdog in any party.

Hermione didn't know whether to insist or blush. Ginny rolled her eyes. "Calm down. Honestly, you act like we're not both girls. There isn't anything I have that you haven't seen before." And with that, she pulled off the rest of her clothes and ran into the water in her underwear. "Oh! You didn't tell me it was cold."

Choked between uneasy laughter and motherly disapproval, Hermione just turned her back and pushed off the sandy bank so she could float. She heard Ginny splashing over to her. "I didn't know you were such a prude." She teased.

"Oh leave me alone," she mumbled. An only child, and with the small circle of brainy friends in her muggle world, Hermione hadn't had the chance or the friends to be so open with about things like this.

But Ginny wasn't paying any attention to her daydreaming, and was chattering on about her prudishness, " – it's absolutely ridiculous. I mean, even Luna's starting to get into it. How about I find you a boyfriend? Not that you can't find one yourself!" Ginny added hastily, misinterpreting her look of outrage, "This way I can find out if he's a nice enough guy for you."

"Ginny." She struggled for words. "No… thank you."

"Hermione," Ginny started disapprovingly.

"No, thank you." She repeated, more forcefully.

Ginny had just opened her mouth to argue her case when another _pop_ indicated that they weren't alone. As she splashed around to get upright again, Hermione caught a flash of Ginny's rigid face before rubbing the stinging water out of her eyes. She squinted up at the figure. Figure_s_.

"Malfoy?" She found herself asking for the second time that night, with the exactly the same tone.

He pulled a face at the sight of the two of them, his arms dropping away from the girl he had clinging on beside him. "Oh bloody hell, out of all the places you two choose to frolic by the water." His eyes landed impatiently on Ginny, "Granger I'd expect not to know any better. You, Weasley, _should_ know better." He paused then, and a wicked grin sprang onto his face. "Unless I'm being tactless, and making too many first assumptions?"

The speed at which he changed tact was disturbing, and Hermione had no idea what he was talking about. But Ginny didn't seem to have any trouble keeping up. "If anyone asked me who I know was hoeing the other row, you'd be my first pick Malfoy." She snapped. "Come on Hermione."

She started marching directly towards Malfoy. Her eyes a little wide, she wondered what on earth Ginny was thinking. She watched surprise register with Malfoy as well, or so she thought it was surprise. Unless his own wide eyes had something less to do with an angry Weasley marching up to him, and something more about how said Weasley was in her underwear.

But all Ginny did was grab her clothes and wand and take Hermione's hand so they could promptly apparate back to the Burrow. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were in bed (or Hermione hoped they were in bed) and Ginny stormed into her room still just in her underwear without anyone having to notice. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, before making her way to her own room for the night.

Her subconscious whispered to her before she fell into it. Ginny just doesn't have any hang ups when it came to things like waltzing about in her underwear. It was the equivalent of a bikini, really.

Hermione's face was sour as she fell asleep. "And I do?"

.

She was to go job hunting.

It hadn't been her idea. But after her father (when she had spent a few weeks holiday with them) had asked her what she had been planning for the rest of her life, now that the 'bad wizard' was gone, she had found herself without an answer. It had led to Hermione approaching Mr. Weasley about it – the man had risen in the Ministry, his good heart being recognized more than his interest in Muggles, especially recently with the Great Harry Potter vouching for him. Which, in a sense, showed exactly how little the Ministry had changed.

The man had been extremely kind and eager to help. And to Hermione's surprise, his enquiries had returned many offerings. Aside from Harry, she and Ron had also had the... pleasure of attracting the suffocating praise and attention from the greater wizarding world. They weren't likely to be forgotten quickly either.

Out of all the pamphlets and personal letters that had been addressed to her, Hermione found few that attracted her attention. Mr. Weasley had good connections throughout the Ministry, but the kind man hadn't the heart to turn down anyone who had come to him with an offer – Hermione found herself with offers by everything from a potions master to a Seer seeking an apprentice (how _that_ one had got into the pile she had no idea). In the end, she found herself deliberating over three possible choices – an offer to become a research assistant for a professor who specialized in protective spells and jinxes (something along the lines of the complete opposite of what Bill Weasley did). The second was an offering to take up a teaching course in whichever area that piqued her interest. The last was from a woman named Jezebel Louthe, a Senior Healer at St. Mungo's who was looking for someone who could not only offer services in advanced healing but also office keeping.

So the next day she found herself stepping into the foyer of the magical hospital, and smoothing down her skirt nervously as she looked around for Madame Louthe. She was the one who was going to introduce her to the hospital, and the finer workings of each Department. Or Area, or Faction… Don't panic.

Why had she chosen the third? Well, the professor had lived in Siberia – a place far too _far_ (even with the power of apparition), and far too cold for her liking. The teaching position had glimmered her interest at the start, but the more she thought about it, the less appealing she found it. She had a passion for helping people, which formed a slight distinction from _educating_ them.

It was a while before the woman turned up. Hermione swayed on the spot uncertainly, biting her lip as each minute passed. Healers and their patients moved passed her like ants swarming around a rock in their path – careful, methodical, paying no mind to the figure in their way. Once she tried taking a step in the direction of the waiting chairs – right into the path of a little girl in a wheelchair.

She jumped back, flustered. "I'm so sorry!"

The little girl smiled up at her, her blank face peaceful. "I'm fine. You should stop worrying. You don't have to wait much longer. You'll be with him soon."

Hermione stared. "Wasn't Madame Lo- "

Another witch dressed in the Mungo's apparel bustled over, blushing as she located her charge and with quick apologies pushed the girl away again. Feeling thoroughly confused, Hermione stood around for a while longer, no longer knowing who to expect to meet her, until another woman – same apparel, except with a badge labeling her as Madame Louthe – walked briskly towards her.

"Ms. Granger?"

She started smoothing down her skirt again. "Yes, that's me."

The older woman gave her a once-over. Then without another word, hoisted up her clipboard and started scribbling. Alarmed, Hermione followed her down several corridors, not knowing what exactly was being written down. The hallways they passed stood in stark contrast to each other, as did their patients. One hall was pallid white, the patients she glimpsed through the windows sickly and bedbound. Another was brightly coloured with hues of yellow and orange and green, chatter and gossip and laughter filling the air. The third seemed like a balance of the other two – walls painted with washed out colours yet with not a single person drifting between them.

Madame Louthe stopped walking outside an office, her name etched into the gold plate nailed to the door. Hermione looked around nervously – this was another empty hall, and the sheer quietness of it rattled her more than being run in to. The only place in a hospital that should be this quiet was the morgue, wasn't it?

Just before she stepped into the office in front of her, Hermione thought she saw a door swing open and a patient be wheeled out. She threw a backwards glance at the little girl, and her features automatically folded into pity as she caught sight of the distressed mother and father wheeling her away. When she turned around again, she almost walked into Louthe.

"Oh! Sor-"

"None of that here," Madame Louthe instructed briskly. "Keep your head on your shoulders, your emotions firmly in check. We don't want any staff bawling their eyes out. Doesn't help anyone."

Hermione nodded automatically, but thought that the woman was being a little harsh. Louthe twirled her wand, and a stack of papers lifted themselves to rest in front of Hermione. "Before you can convince me of the strength of your practical work, please fill out these. Bring them in by tomorrow, or your application is void. Have a good day."

With that, she settled herself down behind the mahogany desk and resumed the scratching of her clipboard. Hermione thought she might've gotten whiplash from the speed of her dismissal – it took Madame's Louthe to raise her stern head again before she grasped her common sense and scurried out of the building with documents in tow. Utterly confused, she leafed through them quickly. Most was on protocol, some quizzing about various healing spells and potions. The brief eye she had cast over them told her she knew most of the answers, but the lack of attention Madame Louthe had given her had dealt quite a blow to her confidence about securing the job.

Back at the Burrow, Ron comforted her with a mouth full of roast chicken. "Nev'mind them, 'mione. Mungo's are all an uptight bunch. Dad knew this healer, said he almost quit his job once 'cos this woman harped every week about him not filing his papers properly."

Hermione frowned, far from comforted. She flicked her quill over the parchment, signing her name at the bottom of another questionnaire. "I'm efficient, and I'm pretty sure that my standard of work is above average."She murmured worriedly, as if trying to convince herself of it.

Ginny took a turn. "I don't see why you're worrying, Louthe was probably just trying not to show you any preference, not snub you off." she said reasonably.

"She barely looked me in the eye! And I waited in the entrance hall for fifteen minutes before she showed up."

"Hermione, it's St. Mungo's. Someone probably showed up with a flobberworm attached to their face or something."

She tickled her chin with her quill. "But shouldn't she have apologized? Or did I have to apologize? What if I've done something to offend her?"

Ron and Ginny shared a look. "Hermione..."

But the brunette seemed to have made up her own mind. "You know what? I'm just going to revise all of these answers, go to sleep, and show up bright and early the next day. I won't give her anything to criticize about me."

.

Bright and early.

In her fit of nerves (or lack of, as she repeated repeatedly), Hermione had arrived an hour earlier than her scheduled time. Pacing didn't help, and she certainly wasn't going to go back home so she had more time to herself to worry. Sighed, she sat herself down in the waiting room once more, watching the hospital slowly stir to life.

The healers had started their day far earlier than Hermione, and had lights lit, portraits dusted, customer service tidied. Then the patients started coming, slow as a trickle at first, and then a steady flow. Some were checking up, others were visiting, and apart from them were the people who had self-diagnosed a lethal hex they'd been hit with and needed medical help just calming them down again. Hermione found herself biting back smiles – there really wasn't that much of a difference between muggles and magicals.

She wondered briefly if the girl she had bumped into earlier that day would be here again – was she a long term patient, or like some of the others, just checking up? But she had her own nurse…

"Granger?"

Hermione looked up, and before she could stop herself, rolled her eyes. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

He didn't reply, just had on his usual sardonic smile, looking at her as thought expecting her to grasp something very obvious. She looked him once over, not very impressed, and not noting any major change since she saw him some days ago. Still blond, grey eyes stormy behind a veil of clouds, placed within angular features. Hands in pockets, straight back, name tag pinned to his shirt underneath the standard Malfoy-quality tailored –

_Name tag_?

She didn't gasp, but her eyes widened a fair bit. Her gaze flew to touch on the little nametag pinned onto his lapel, then onto his face where he mocked her still with those eyes.

"You're telling me, that _you_ are a – "

"Doctor, you're needed on the fourth floor."

Malfoy turned around, the smirk fading only slightly to make room for the professional air he suddenly had about him. "Healer Aspit is currently preoccupied with a patient, if it's an emergency Healer Rede is free. Is it the Saye girl?"

The woman nodded nervously, before bustling off to find Healer Rede. Hermione stared, before shaking her head again. "You can't be a healer. You're not old enough." _You're not kind hearted enough_.

"Not true," He corrected her, "Not _experienced_ enough, which is why I've been hired as an apprentice of sorts by Madame Louthe, so I can learn some more before I start my full training here. Those nurses would call the janitor doctor."

Hermione felt a bit sick. "Madame Louthe?"

Malfoy, unruffled, glanced at the clock on the wall. "Yes, the woman you were meant to have a meeting with two minutes ago?"

She gave a little yelp. Darting around the queue, she dodged patients and healers alike before disappearing up the stairs. She arrived, barely five minutes late, but knew the look Louthe's face meant that every second had been counted.

"I'm - so sorry!" she tried to get her breath back.

"It's seems like all you're doing is apologizing to me, Ms. Granger." The woman frowned at her.

Ashamed, embarrassed, a bit irrationally angry at Malfoy, all Hermione could do was cling onto her folder of answered questionnaires and file sheets. The woman sighed, and held her hand out for them.

Muffling her sigh of relief, she handed them over quickly, making sure not to trip on the thick wool rug underneath. Madame Louthe went through each paper individually, not offering Hermione a seat as she painstakingly read each word of each reply to each question on each sheet of paper. Hermione started spinning a line of questions she wanted to ask the woman. What exactly she was offering her, since she seemed to already have Malfoy comfortably in the position she was applying for? And _Malfoy_, working in a place where he was required to _help_ people? Out of the goodness of what? His heart?

Hermione sighed again. She had to stop being bitter. _We haven't really had time to work out our differences_, she chanted to herself, _that's all_.

Madame Louthe cleared her throat. Hermione snapped her eyes back to the woman's face, dismayed to think that she might've missed anything she had said from daydreaming.

But Madame Louthe didn't seem disapproving. "These seem to be in good order." She slid Hermione's notes neatly away into a drawer. "You next task is to complete a practical. Meet me back on the first floor at two o'clock, and you shall be introduced to your first patient."

Again, the woman bowed her head and Hermione found herself dismissed before any of the questions she had had a chance to be voiced. Walking down the now-familiar hallway, she bit her lip. Her resolve was wavering, and there really hadn't been much of it there in the first place.

.

Her practical had gone smoothly. Expecting someone with a horrid disease which prevented her from standing within five feet of him (or something of the like) Hermione found herself reading through piles of volumes over her lunch as she revised for the task ahead. Bracing herself, she was instead faced with a woman who merely had been mildly poisoned with Ocrete, a fairly common garden weed which grew alongside its identical herb Osis, a plant used to cure headaches. The job of convincing the woman that she wasn't about to die was harder than helping her ingest the yellow antidote.

With that completed, Madame Louthe had smiled at Hermione for the first time and handed her the formal application slip to become her assistant. She dismissed Hermione again, allowing her another day to make up her mind.

It was a fickle thing. Hermione tickled her chin with the end of her quill as she debated her reply. It wasn't like she wasn't willing to help, and it wasn't like the job hadn't any merit in her eyes. It was the exact opposite. She had researched Madame Louthe, and found the woman's record and reputation impeccable, and highly impressive. Not only that, but the more time she spent at the hospital, the more she felt herself sliding into the flow of things – she didn't get bumped into anymore, and the feeling of being able to help another was... exhilarating, in its own, little way.

So what was stopping her signing her name?

Unbelievably, or not, it was the thought of having to face Malfoy's increasingly sharper wit every day. Being the current assistant to the Madame (she still hadn't the chance to ask her why she needed another), Hermione couldn't really take up the job at St. Mungo's without having to deal with Draco Malfoy in a face-to-face kind of way.

...But it didn't have to be so awful, did it? She repeated her promise to the Minister (though she hadn't seen him again since she first made the promise) in her head like a mantra.

It wouldn't be so bad, she thought to herself as she signed on the dotted line. She was just overreacting.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** Just read Bond again, making myself feel talentless and inferior -grin- Anyone who hasn't already, and who doesn't mind slash and a brilliant, extremely well written story, GO NOW! After this of course, haha. I also wanted say that I might be a little slower at updating that usual. I have got quite a bit written up already, but I find that the smallest things are affecting the way I write and the way I think about what I write – things even like font face and size. So lately I've been rereading everything every time I finish another chapter, to make sure things are lined up properly. Yes, this will delay my updating, but it will also (hopefully!) increase story quality. And that's always a good thing, right? ^^

...Am I rambling? Yes? *Shuts up*

Thanks for your reviews (: keeps me smiling and writing!

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter belongs to JKR, and is only allowed out to play with the plotbunny

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- CHAPTER THREE -

**Compatibility**

"And this?"

"Lachiameda. A severe rash, most commonly occurring between the legs or armpit areas, where there is skin friction. Appears at first as a normal red rash, but when left untreated progresses rapidly from mere skin irritation to the beginnings of boils. Identified by the small, regular lumps of skin it raises, caused by the overdose from Lactilia, a seed used in hangover potions."

Hermione was accustomed to reading between the stern lines of Madame Louthe's face. She saw the slight softening between them, indicating that she was pleased with her progress. Hermione was pleased too – she thought that hospital life would seem… well, dull to her, after the adventure of the past seven years. She was proven wrong though, as Madame's patients brought her new challenges to face every day.

The woman waved her wand again, and the picture floating in the air fizzled to show another, an orange plant tapering down to red tentacles that ebbed back and forth.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak again, but Madame Louthe gestured for her workmate to answer the next question. She sat back, a little irked. He seemed to find that funny.

"Gandil. It's effects varies vastly, depending on the method of preparation. For example, it can be stewed to become an antidote to Lachiameda, chopped and eaten raw after half an hour's resting in direct sunlight as a source of iron, or ground to powder and smoked as a sedative." Malfoy smirked.

"And when taken in copious amounts?" Madame Louthe turned back to Hermione.

"It can become a toxic drug, addling with both a wizard's mind and magic, which not only makes the unstable individual to become a danger to others, but also himself as runaway magic often ends in extreme disaster." She continued fluidly.

The older woman sat back, satisfied with the day's theory. "For tomorrow, revise cures and maladies that surround the Icthus flower."

The two exited without another word, before settling into a familiar pattern outside Madame Louthe's doors. Malfoy's smirk faded a little, and she in turn frowned at the sullen expression replacing it. She decidedly ignored it – that last (and first) time she had asked what was wrong, he had not only snapped at her goodwill but somehow weaseled his way out of attending patient 849 in the same breath.

Patient 849 (Madame Louthe never bothered to give them names) had a habit of spontaneous projectile vomiting. Until they brewed a potion strong enough to counter whatever he had ingested, anyone working around him had to be in possession of good reflexes, incase another jet of unmentionables flew their way. In their first meeting, Malfoy had the misfortune of not knowing about patient 849's condition, and hadn't moved fast enough as the man opened his mouth to offer a greeting.

But that was in the past. She had figured out what they needed for the cure (just simple poppy seeds) and he was discharged three days ago. Malfoy's mood hadn't improved – she found herself instead of trying to treat him like another civil stranger, she was avoiding him at all costs.

But she couldn't hold onto her tongue any longer as she found herself pushing open the waiting room door by herself.

"Where do you think you're going?" She hissed at his retreating back.

"Out." He replied shortly.

"Malfoy, I swear I'll -"

"Tell on me?" He made an impatient noise. "I don't _care_, Granger." With that, he pushed past two patients, ducked under a bench and disappeared around the next corner.

Hermione allowed herself five seconds to calm down, before plastering on a smile and walking into the next room.

The next time he showed her his face again, she'd hex him into the next millennia.

.

"You enjoying your job, then?" Ginny commented mildly.

"And how're your N.E.W.T.S going?" Hermione asked sweetly.

Ginny pulled a face, and took another healthy swig of her drink. Today was one of the rare occasions she was spared from her studies and allowed out to Hogsmeade, but she was acutely aware of her schedule and wasn't going to stay long.

They were sitting in the Three Broomsticks, stewing over four mugs of butterbeer and the simple turn their lives had taken. In Harry's place was Luna, who had agreed brightly to come along when Ginny asked her the previous day. Harry had a lunch appointment with the Head of the Department of something or other, he said he'd make it up to them by treating them all to dinner the next day.

To Hermione and Ginny's great amusement, Ron spluttered indignantly at Luna being invited in place of Harry, but shut up quickly when the girl actually arrived. He'd taken to laughing with her a lot more than laughing at her, and even when she showed up with her mushroom robes he didn't even look at them twice, except when he commented on the interesting way they turned fluorescent green when in darkness.

"Seriously Hermione," Ron commented, his face red from something Luna had said, "I reckon if you don't pull out soon Malfoy'll drive you to do something that he'll regret."

"Like what?" She asked, amused.

"Oh, use your imagination." He grinned. "Please."

"Are you trying to get me fired?" She said indignantly, "Before I've even been properly hired in the first place?"

"So, you're trying to tell me that from three weeks and up until now, you've been nothing but completely civil and polite to each other? Not one thought of hexing something ingenious onto that pale face? Not one dream of giving him another one of those amazing right hooks?"

Hermione grimaced. "You're being awfully intense today, what's your problem?" she mumbled.

Ron sat back, laughing and somewhat pleased with himself. "Nothing. Just trying to prove you _wrong_, which I did."

She ignored that, and turned to Luna for some more pleasant conversation. "So what have you been doing lately? How are you handling seventh year?"

Luna smiled vacantly. "Oh, you know. The usual. But daddy's invited some relatives over, I've been hired as a guide of sorts during the holidays and I'm showing them around London, pointing out the sights and wonders and all."

Hermione wondered how they all fit into their house. "A bit cramped at your place at the moment then, isn't it?"

Luna looked surprised. "Oh no, everyone's settling fine. My cousin's sharing a bed with me though," she smiled again, "We haven't seen each other for five years, but we used to play together all the time."

"That's nice," Ginny said, "What's her name?"

Again, Luna looked surprised. "His name is Brett."

Ron choked on his butterbeer.

.

When she returned from Hogsmeade, Hermione found Malfoy lounging in the office they shared, adjacent to Madame Louthe's. His eyes were closed, his feet up on the desk, and one hand conducting some music she couldn't hear. She leaned against the doorway, her fingers twitching and her tongue tingling to aim a hex at the lazy brat. He opened one eye lazily, as if her vexation toward him had become physical. Her disapproval met his indifference in a sharp glare, and he sighed.

"If you do not start to act your age, I'm going to hex you." He frowned.

_Feeling's mutual_, she bristled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He pushed himself away from the desk, to stand upright. "I mean, you are so single-minded in your desperation to please Louthe that you don't even see yourself becoming her."

Hermione thought of Madame Louthe – strict, professional, wise – and saw nothing wrong with aspiring to become a woman like her. Malfoy seemed to read her mind, and made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. "You don't get it, do you? I said _become_ her. Old, workbound, and no sense of flexibility at all."

She blinked, shocked at the attack. "You're despicable." She shot back, "Don't insult the only woman who seems to be giving you the time of day."

He grinned again, his eyes flashing. "Oh, trust me, Louthe isn't the woman I go to be given the time of day. _That_ title has a waiting line."

"What is _wrong_ with you?" She cried in sudden exasperation. "Why are you even _here_? You obviously don't care if you get this job or not, you're not working very hard for it, why don't you leave? Take up knitting or something. Go play Quidditch."

"That would be called giving up," Malfoy said breezily, ignoring her frustration. "Besides, the title of having successfully worked under Louthe does hold some merit."

"That's what you call an Order of Merlin?" She snapped. "Louthe's done great work in her youth, you should be glad that she's giving us the opportunity to learn from her."

"But she's not what she was," Malfoy sighed, "And what she's really capable of really doesn't shine bright through theory. You know testing us on theory is just an excuse to sit on her lazy arse and not do anything, right?"

"If that's how your twisted mind thinks, then you go ahead." She turned around, too busy arguing with herself to continue arguing with him. Her head told her to not do anything rash – her body however, was feeling very rash and her wand tingled against her palm.

It was then Madame Louthe walked in, one hand holding a bottle of mead. She waved the two away. "Lunch isn't over for another five minutes. I don't want to see either of you until then."

The two of them exited. In the hallways, and inexplicably, Malfoy laughed.

"You're so angry your hair's quivering."

Hermione opened her mouth, and then closed it. What could she say to that?

"You're so white you blend in with the wallpaper."

Oh. That was clever.

Malfoy remained silent, as if sensing her mortification at herself, and knowing it was more than anything he could induce in her. They stood around the waiting room, before returning promptly as the five minutes drew to a close outside Madame Louthe's office. If the woman had achieved one thing, it was to drill on-the-dot punctuality (not earlier, and definitely not later) into the two better than McGonagall or even Snape.

She opened her door, and they walked in without having to be asked. Hermione brought forth all the information she had read up on about the Icthus flower, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Malfoy folding his arm and doing more or less the same. But they were both surprised. After one relatively simple question each, they were ushered out again and into a patient room – to a man lying in obvious pain on a bed that had been stained yellow from the pus leaking from his boils. Hermione fought not to retch at the smell.

"This," Louthe waved her hand over the man cheerfully, "Is the prime example of an allergic reaction to the Icthus flower. Who can tell me why a simple allergic reaction can balloon out of control like this?"

Hermione felt a little green as she inhaled to speak. "He's gone and inhaled the plant directly without knowing he was allergic." Stupid, pretty, glowing purple blue flower.

"And the boils?"

"Whatever he's been eating or using – face cream, for example – was incompatible with the pollen, resulting in… that." Painful, itchy, disgusting boils. She repressed a shudder. She had seen more gruesome injuries than this, but this time the disgusting factor was still quite high.

She nodded, and then gestured to Malfoy. "Heal him."

He looked up, surprised, outraged. "_I_ have to touch _that_?" Just as he finished his sentence, the man moaned as another boil popped, and the room was awash with a fresh wave of stink. Hermione groped blindly for her wand, hoping to cast a bubblehead charm, but Malfoy seemed to have been convinced that it was in everyone (and mostly his) best interest to get the man well again. He gestured roughly at Hermione, who only hesitated once before walking over and helping him gather together the necessary things.

"Three potions," He instructed, "To soothe so he'll shut up," - another moan - "On to reduce the swelling, and another to counteract the allergen."

They had to rub the second potion onto his boils directly – which not only meant touching the man, but coming dangerously close to the smell. Madame Louthe had frowned when Hermione made to cast her spell again, so she sighed (immediately regretting losing her air) and did without. Thankfully, the hospital's well supplied stores meant they hadn't needed to spend a few hours brewing the potions they needed. Combined with a few charms, they had the man healing and smelling nicer within ten minutes.

Hermione turned to the man, "If you're going to plant Icthus flowers -"

"And be a man," Malfoy muttered irritably.

"- Remember to not touch anything that might react with it beforehand." Hermione ignored him. "Incompatible herbs are dangerous combinations, please read up on whatever else you're growing."

Patient 857 nodded quickly, quailing under Malfoy's glare.

"Phew!" Hermione went to rinse her hands.

"And I was betting you were going to throw up," he sighed.

"And what? Have it combine with pus man to whiff? No thanks, that would've been enough to make me pass out."

He snickered, no doubt imagining Louthe's face is she found Hermione unconscious from a patient. Hermione turned around to stare at him. He was a good foot and some taller than her, and shook her head. It was Malfoy. Mocking and assuming superiority was not just a genetic defect, it was probably raised and nurtured in him as well.

The two left the room to report their success, leaving patient 857 offended, after all he had been through that day, also having been nicknamed pus man.

.

Hermione pulled a brush through her hair, weighing the pros and cons of tying it up into something.

Madame Louthe had alerted them that she had been called to a meeting, so they would be alone for the day and would be mostly taking over her rounds with patients.

The trouble was that magic really created an inexhaustible list of injuries able to be inflicted on a person. The interesting combinations created by accident or perhaps on purpose provided Hermione with enough challenges to stop her from getting bored on any day. When Madame Louthe's patients were all tended to, they were shipped off to ground floor and help with the more mundane (yet still unexpected) injuries and cursed there.

Searching for a hair tie, she held her hair back with one hand as she groped with the other, and then stuffed a piece of toast into her mouth as she hurried to apparate to St. Mungo's. She wasn't late, as she stepped into the hall at 8:00. She chewed absentmindedly on her piece of toast, waving at individuals and smiling at the paintings that took to noticing her. It was this damn fear of being late, she mused to herself, almost walking into Malfoy as she rounded the last corner. He made a disgruntled noise, and then an annoyed one as he saw her flattened bit of toast had crumbled against his shirt.

"Do keep your eyes in your head, Granger." He snapped.

She raised her eyebrows, but didn't bite back with half the fervor she might've only a few weeks ago. She had… gotten used to this ritual, for a lack of a better explanation. "Sorry," she said easily, "Though you were admiring your shoes quite intensely too, I have to say."

"Why do you have bread hanging out of your mouth?" He asked bluntly, sidestepping her retort.

She felt the old blush creeping up her neck. But she fought it down. There was nothing to feel embarrassed about. "Why is your shirt untucked?"

He smirked, and she groaned as she recognized one of his brilliant sexual innuendoes coming her way.

He smirked his way into the next room. She trailed after him warily, not entirely sure what to expect of the day. They were far from the children they were, but she wasn't entirely sure how smoothly this would go unsupervised.

.

"_No!_" She snapped half an hour later, "Unless you want to risk making him completely _bald_, the standard measure of potion must be ingested _before_ any attempts to remove it by charms!"

"Do you ever get tired of listening to your own voice?" Malfoy demanded, ignoring her completely as he waved his wand.

Patient 861's expression was worried as he looked from Malfoy to Hermione, and started when she mentioned baldness. Even as his skin took three steps closer to a normal creamy complexion and away from the strange blue tint it had before, he twitched anxiously in his seat.

"Drink this," Malfoy ordered, and the little boy complied, tentatively sipping at the mixture, before drinking more eagerly at the honey-flavoured liquid.

Hermione hovered around the boy, anxiously waiting for something to happen.

"Look, I think a strand of hair just fell out," Malfoy taunted her from one side.

She muttered something she didn't think their patient should hear. On the other side of the room, Malfoy snickered anyway.

"You did not hear what I just said," she said flatly, waving her wand over the boy again and the blue vanished completely.

"I think I did. And I wouldn't mind doing so, as soon as we send little tot here on his way. Hurry up," he added impatiently. "He's not going to implode."

The boy turned large eyes to him.

"I'm being serious." Malfoy said defensively. "You're not."

"You can go back now," Hermione said kindly. However, the child, far from being comforted that he wasn't about to turn into a badly hexed blueberry, stumbled quickly out of the room fretting about imploding and baldness.

"Your sense of humour is just amazing. Bravo." She snapped.

"Kids are great, aren't they?"

"Oh, are you being maternal? Never pictured you as a young father, Malfoy."

"But I can picture you as a childless hag, fifty years from now."

She closed her eyes. Sometimes, just as she thought she was getting used to his banter, something nastier that hit too close to home would fly out of his mouth and shake her already shaking resolve that she could be civil with him. She stayed calm.

"Next?"

Patient 862 was a woman who was purple. Hermione thought they were having a rather rainbow display today, until she realized that the purple was bruising, and it covered nearly every inch of her exposed skin.

"_Oh my god! What happened to you?" The woman would break down in sobs, dissolving in Hermione's comforting embrace. "My abusive -_

She snapped out of it. _Don't be hysterical_. "Please, sit down. What happened?"

The woman moved gingerly, but she made her way to the bed without looking too distressed. She saw Malfoy sit up in vague interest, but he made no move to come and help the woman.

She hadn't replied to her question, so Hermione repeated it, more gently. She had such small, fearful eyes. She murmured something, and Hermione bent lower to catch it. "…just heal me?"

She frowned. "Unless this was just a simple accident, which I highly doubt, you have to tell me how you got them. We can't have something like this happening to you again."

"It was just a mistake," The woman whispered through cracked lips. And even they were purple, as slow blood oozed there.

Hermione frowned, but then Malfoy took over. Quickly, he probed with a few questions, careful to word them so that they didn't seem to pry into the why. After muttering about her for a little while, the skin began to turn an ugly yellow – a sign of healing. Hermione prepared the concoction, saying little to the woman.

"You need to drink this potion every day, as soon as you wake up, for another week before they'll clear up completely."

The woman nodded, bowing slightly as a sign of her appreciation, before scurrying out of the room like a mouse on the lookout for a cat. None of them moved to fetch the next patient, and the silence grew.

"How can you do that?" Hermione whispered.

He turned around impatiently. "What?"

"Just… not care. What if she gets hurt again?"

"Not our problem." He replied shortly.

Hermione bit her lip. "It is. We're meant to help people get better. You – I – _We_ need to take preventative action as well, we can't just be the ones they go to afterwards."

Malfoy squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, but made no comment. She ignored him, him and his nonexistent morals and values. She decided to talk to Madame Louthe about it later, and filed the thought away. Or perhaps Ginny, she mused, wondering if the Healer would care much more than Malfoy about her issue.

Patient 863 walked in. Or should she say, flopped in. Supported by a friend, he seemed as boneless as a worm and oozing something clear and sticky.

Malfoy groaned, and Hermione sighed.

.

The day drew to a close, with patient 882 walking away once again with all ten fingers and toes in their respective places. Hermione sat back, amazed and wiped out.

"Honestly, I'd like to meet some of these casters," Malfoy sniggered, "That last one was pure _genius_. To think, he had been walking around for the entire day with a finger sticking out of his -"

"I was the one who removed it, Malfoy!" Hermione snapped, "No need grace me with your vivid description."

He ignored her, seemingly having quite a good time describing. "And the way he could still wiggle his toe even it was on his nose!" He chortled.

She bit back a smile as she remembered the sight of 882, cross eyed and looking at his… toe-nose. She waved her hands as if to physically remove the urge. "Might've been nicer for you to start laughing after he had left the room." She replied as frostily as she could.

He rolled his eyes. "No bloody way. He'd been in the waiting room for the whole day too."

"Honestly, the way you laugh at other people's misfortune -"

Suddenly, he was in her face. Startled, Hermione stepped back. "Okay, why don't we get this straight right now? I can't stand another minute of your preaching. _They're_ the ones who get themselves in whatever mess it is, _our_ job is to clean it up, and not pine with them. In exchange for that service, I'm allowed to laugh at whatever walks in through those doors. You take however high a moral ground you want, just don't expect me to want any part in it. Are we clear?" He was close enough she could see his grey eyes glinting in annoyance.

She stared back at him, feeling her anger rising again. "Let's get this straight," she pushed her hair out of her face, "You're working at a _hospital_, and you're getting a kick out of how bad people's injuries are? You'll help these people, and then laugh at them?"

"That's about it, yeah." He leaned against a bench, folding his arms.

She shook her head. "Why?"

He looked bored. "Because '_I get a kick out of it_'."

"Don't give me that shit," she snapped. He looked up, vaguely interested at how she was angry enough to start swearing at him. "Stop trying to feed me crap. Malfoys don't want to help people, stop them from hurting. They want to laugh at the hurt. You're not getting a gold star for working here, yet you still don't quit. Why. Are. You. Here?"

He gave her a level stare. It stopped her better than any insult, because the amount of open sincerity in his gaze was disarming. Anger was quickly whipped out by disorientated confusion.

"Maybe even Malfoys can change." He said, almost inaudibly, before pushing his way out of the room.

Hermione felt stunned, petrified, and then resurrected again within a space of two seconds. She shook her head, as if trying to get water out of her ears.

"Yeah, like after they've suffered a stint in Azkaban." She muttered to herself, as she, too, left the room.

She really needed to talk to Madame Louthe. Maybe sometime around now.

.

In the end, she had Ron meet up with her for dinner as Madame Louthe wasn't able to be reached. It took a while for her to get over it, and convince herself that the universe wasn't working against her. Louthe had just decided not to go back to her office after the meeting, opting instead to go straight home. When was the last time she did that? Before Hermione had gotten her Hogwarts letter, that's when.

But the universe was not working against her.

They ate at a Muggle café, and she watched with half a smile on her face as Ron prodded the fake flowers.

"Blimey, these feel gross."

"They make them furry so it looks right, not so it feels right." She said patiently.

"Can't muggles just grow real plants?"

Hermione shrugged. "Maybe they don't live long enough, or maybe they don't get looked after properly."

Ron sat back as their meals came, amazed. "They can't even raise a plant properly?" The Weasley's garden was full to overflowing with flowers and shrubs and herbs that thrived under Mrs. Weasley's adoring care (though occasionally uprooted by the lessened yet still constant presence of the gnomes).

"It's just a shop, Ron," She said as she tucked into her lamb, "It's not their home."

He opened his mouth, then closed it, shrugged and was soon distracted by the smell on his plate.

"Good food, tho'." He muttered.

Hermione grinned, and shook her head. London's night life passed by them – the light was leaking out of the sky, and the lampposts started switching on. The number of people lessened, but never quite disappeared completely. She let a feeling of calm and contentedness steal over her, and tried her soup.

"Anything happen today?" Ron asked after a while.

She screwed up her face. "Yeah yeah. I can't just ask you out for a nice dinner."

"Nope," He popped the 'p'.

She sighed. "I think…" Then she stopped and frowned. "Well, I don't, but then _some_ things…" Stopping again, Hermione tried to think before she spoke. "And _just_ when I've decided that I've figured him out, or even better, decided that I don't actually care, he just does something and it gets me –" She stopped herself again, before bursting out again with "You know? I think I will hex him one day. Just for the fun of it. Then I'll probably do it again, just because it feels good. Yes?" She ended on a growl.

Ron looked amused over his drink. "Er, okay?"

She laughed, and even that ended with her frustrated. "Yeah, it's just Malfoy. I can't really ask him to leave, but he won't tell me why he's there, and he's not hindering anything, but he's not making it pleasant. Well he's not doing anything to _me_, but the way he treats these poor patients! One man came in one day with his fingernails torn off and all Malfoy could do was look disgusted and say _yuck_."

It was Ron's turn to look disgusted. "Thanks for that, Hermione. I'll just stop eating now. Not to side with Malfoy or anything."

She waved him away. "And then he had the gall to ask why I'm mad at him? Stupid – bloodless – Slytherin – _ferret_!" She stabbed angrily at her plate.

"Hermione, put down the fork." Ron grinned, thoroughly enjoying being the reasonable one for once.

She looked at her salad, nothing having remained on her plate but a single sliced cherry tomato. She grimaced, and then quickly waved her wand and the greens floated back onto her plate. But she pushed it away.

"Now, how about you explain this to me properly, so I can properly join you in insulting Malfoy?"

She laughed again, and shook her head. "Okay, I get it. I'm being too touchy around him."

Ron looked surprised. "What? No! Don't stop. I want to complain about him too."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione turned back to her soup, with only one frown line between her brows.

She's catch Madame Louthe early before work tomorrow, or she'd stay behind and wait for her. Either way, she wasn't going to let herself go prematurely grey, just because she needed all her wits to beat back the unrelenting flow of witty comments and innuendoes he was so proud of.

Ron watched Hermione plot away over her dessert, and squinted up at the sky. They'd all grown up, these past few months. Literally, yet emotionally and mentally as well. The animosity he felt towards Malfoy would always be there. He didn't see that fading away any time soon. But he could see them coming to terms with each other, understanding that dogs chased cats and just leave it alone. How he could valiantly persevere though, with Hermione continually harping on exactly the reasons _why_ he disliked Malfoy, wasn't helping.

He sighed, and dug into his own plate of cake. His role this time was to be the listening friend. At least he had the liberty of ignoring him when they met. Hermione had to work with him, and be civil with him, fake camaraderie with the slimy git in front of patients.

Ron screwed up his nose.

Or maybe he hadn't really changed that much. Maybe they should just all stop kidding themselves. Maybe he should change the subject.

"Listen, Hermione."

She looked up. "Hmm?"

"Don't lose yourself in this, okay? Ginny hasn't heard from you in a while, you know she might need some help in one or two of her subjects. And even Harry's been over at the Burrow more than you have. Dad's been asking about you too, how you've been adjusting, and even I haven't seen you enough to answer them properly. Slow down a bit, fit the rest of your life in your work, okay? You're not old enough to marry your work yet." He said with a faint smile.

She looked alarmed, then disappointed. "I'm so sorry, Ron. I had no idea. Of course, I'll come over this weekend. I haven't even thanked your dad properly yet for helping find work."

Ron nodded, then squeezed her hand. "Don't worry about it, I'm just reminding you. You're getting so caught in work. Honestly Hermione." He teased her.

She accepted his banter with a light smile, but mean words echoed in her head.

"_Old, workbound, and no sense of flexibility at all_."

She tried to shut the words out, as well as the taunting face of their owner. She didn't need this, not after an entire day with him.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN:** As I slowly get back into writing, I expect my writing style will change around quite a lot until I find something that sits right with me. Don't murder me as I experiment XD Chapter lengths will probably start getting longer too, as I'm starting to finally figure out exactly how much progress I need in each chapter so this story doesn't have 92734901 of them. /drabble.

Saye = say-ee. Rhymes with Hawaii, and coincidentally, Hermione (just realized that).

Angry Hermione swears lots (:

THANK YOU for your reviews ^^

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter belongs to JKR, and is only allowed out to play with the plotbunny

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- CHAPTER FOUR -

**Intervention, Progress, and then some**

The next day, Hermione had woken late enough that she wasn't going to be able to meet up with Louthe before work, but early enough that she had ten minutes before she was due outside her office. However, according to someone, it was enough time for her to bump into Malfoy on her way back from the lavatory. They did more or less ignore each other; Malfoy smirked and Hermione rolled her eyes, but nothing verbal passed between the two. It was a fragile peace, and unfortunately didn't last quite as long as Hermione had hoped. Who knew that patient 885 would be another vomiter, and who knew that Malfoy didn't know, and who knew 885 had particularly good aim when it came to chucking?

Complete disaster aside, Madame Louthe ended up pulling the two out of the patient room, and barking at two healers standing by to do the job instead. She pushed them into her office, too classy to look _livid_, and instead quailed indignantly as she told them off. They refused to look at each other. Hermione, because she knew she wouldn't be able to stop getting angry at Malfoy if she had to look at his face, and Malfoy, because Ganger was seriously _the_ most righteous bitch he'd ever had the displeasure of having to meet, and not be able to get rid of.

She frowned at their stormy expressions. "This is hardly acceptable behavior. To think that you're under _my_ tutelage! Do you insist to act like spoilt little children, fighting over god knows what?"

"Well, he's had seven years to change, so it's not really going to suddenly start now is it?" Hermione was tired. She didn't like feeling so whiny, but…

"You're not a saint, Granger, and you're _not_ always right. Stop pretending you are, so I don't have to puke whenever you open that horrid trap." He shot back.

Louthe waved her hand at both of them. "Shut up, the both of you." She sounded tired, in an annoyed way. "Such sharp, clever minds, yet so intent on blindly gouging each other to death. If you two can't get along, then I'm afraid one of you will have to go."

The pause was very short.

"That'll make everything _so_ much easier."

"Who says _you're_ not going to be the one leaving?"

"_Excuse me_? You think, with your sloppy work and horrible attitude that you're going to be kept on?"

"The size of your head is inflating to dangerous proportions. Be careful, the next step might be _exploding_. But hey, I'm not complaining."

"_Enough_." Louthe stood up, and had whipped out her wand threateningly. The two of them sat back meekly. "If you two do not start getting along – don't give me that look Mr. Malfoy – by _tomorrow_, you are both out of the job. I will also personally make sure if either of you attempt to enter a career of healing, that any future employer will know how much of a disaster you've made of this case." She sat back on her plush chair, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Now."

There was a long silence. Hermione even glanced at Malfoy, expecting lightning to hit or something fabulous like that. But Madame Louthe just continued to stare at them, her stern gaze never wavering, though they sensed deep deliberation behind her stare. Hermione found herself admiring the woman's polished desk, and inspecting all the titles in the shelf behind her head. Anything but to stare back into those grey depths.

"Madame?"

She tilted her head slightly. Malfoy looked as surly as ever, but the impatience was taking over. She sighed, and shook her head. She fixed her eyes on Malfoy. "Impatient, sly, deceitful." She turned to Hermione before either of them had any time to say anything, "Boastful, and too rigid in your methods. I'm going to take this one, very big chance on you two, because I still have some faith in what you've got behind those personalities. However, if you screw this up, I _will_ do everything in my power to make your lives a living hell." Walking around the table, she gestured for them to follow her. They did, and wordlessly, not knowing where the woman was going with this.

Madame Louthe led them only a short way down the hall. Aside from her office, and their adjoining… space, they hadn't opened any of the other six doors in the corridor, though Hermione knew the rooms held patients. Louthe tapped her wand against the lock on the door farthest down the hall, which piqued Hermione's curiosity – what patient door would have a lock on it? She tried to brace herself, but for what exactly she couldn't picture.

The only thing bigger than a chair and table in the room was the bed – and the tiny, tiny girl sleeping on it. She heard Malfoy inhale sharply, and saw him shoot a furtive look towards Madame Louthe. The woman was very slowly approaching the bed, ignoring him, and Malfoy had stopped walking altogether. There was a reverence about him, and Madame Louthe, she didn't understand. Feeling out of the loop, Hermione shadowed Louthe's steps, peeking over the older woman's shoulder at the serene figure peacefully asleep on the white sheets.

She looked like Malfoy. It was the first thought that popped into her head. Ice blonde hair, though curly, fanned out delicately around her face, as if it had been carefully arranged. Her delicate features were marred by a small bruise to her forehead, an ugly black-blue that contrasted starkly against her pale skin. But there was something… _wrong_, unhealthy, about her. As she looked at the girl again, Hermione could say that the paleness _wasn't_ like Malfoy's, in that while his skin seemed just extremely fair, this girl looked like she was ill. There was a translucent quality, and under sunlight it might've helped her look angelic, but under strobe lighting it just made her look sickly. Lips slightly parted, the only indication of life was the gentle rise and fall of her breath. Hermione found herself holding her own breath.

"This is Saye." Madame Louthe murmured. "An extremely special patient."

Three things registered immediately. First, they had been given a name for this girl. She wasn't to become patient eight hundred and something, which in turn said a lot about exactly how permanent her stay at St. Mungo's was. Second, the woman no longer appeared strict, rigidly professional. Louthe had melted into a motherly stance, bending over the girl protectively. Third, she actually said 'special' patient. Hermione glanced at Malfoy, but instead of seeing the cynical sneer she had been expecting, he was staring at the girl with unguarded eyes, with something red and raw swimming just under the surface. She looked away quickly, something rising in her throat that made her balk.

Madame Louthe straightened, and stared at them both. Her gaze regained some of its usual stiffness, but her voice never rose above a gentle whisper. "Until you two can sort yourselves out, I will have you monitoring, helping, and answering to Saye. I will hand over all responsibility of the girl to you. Let's see if that doesn't change your attitudes some. I suppose the unpredictable climate of dozens of new patients everyday can't possibly help either of you settle. I will say that if her condition deteriorates in any way while under your care, you will be suspended until a proper enquiry can be held to determine the exact cause."

She was certainly grasping the seriousness and weight of the responsibility that had just been placed on her – on _them_ - though Hermione was confused as to how spending more time with Malfoy was meant to help them understand each other, considering it was the reason for all their bickering in the first place. Still, Hermione found herself not protesting, instead walking forward a little more to look at the girl. Her eyelids flickered, and the small mouth was pushed down into a delicate frown.

"She's dreaming."

Malfoy's voice breathed into her ear. He sounded so close. And maybe it was something bewitching in the air, or the strange aura that clung to them all, but she didn't step away, or push him away. He just wanted a closer look at her too.

That's all.

.

The initial surprise and general excitement of a new project wore off quickly. Madame Louthe had said that their sole responsibility was to look after the girl, but she did little but sleep most of the time. Hermione had been worried, because the little girl rarely opened her eyes enough for water, much less food, and things like showers and bathroom breaks never actually happened on her watch (she assumed they were completed during early morning or late night hours…?). No one touched the girl when she slept, and she never woke to complain about hunger or thirst. However, Saye's unconscious state left much silence to be filled by the other two conscious people in the room.

The up side to attending a sleeping patient was that they didn't dare to raise their voices. So while their bickering was almost constant, one or both would get tired and slightly embarrassed from whispering so furiously and would instead fall into a silence in which they saw their annoyance conveyed better. It allowed Hermione a lot more time to just stare angrily at Malfoy, instead having to shout angrily too. He never seemed to be ruffled after an argument, however heated. His snappy mouth was the only thing incensed; the rest of him stayed perfectly pale and perfectly calm. He'd fold his long arms across his chest, and stare out the window, while she waited for the bright colour in her cheeks to fade and her agitated breathing to calm. She found that these silences were more embarrassing than being outsmarted by whatever line of attack Malfoy had used that particular day. She saw him placing himself so much above her, as he rose above their squabbles to remain as aloof as ever, as she got flustered every time they sparred. It agonized her too, that she couldn't take him down a notch by being as aloof as he was.

The first time Saye woke up in their presence (two days after they had first been introduced), Hermione had been torn between excitement and surprise. While she had been trying to get her emotions under control, Malfoy had gotten up, handed the girl a glass of water, and watched her sip it slightly before her eyelids fluttered and she fell asleep again. It was over so quickly, and no one had said anything, Hermione had to blink a few times - she might've pinched herself as well - to make sure that she hadn't just imagined it. But then Malfoy snickered at her expression, and put the glass of water back on the table, and she had a reason to be embarrassed all over again.

Next time was better. Malfoy had been across the room, reading a book, when the girl stirred in her sleep, and opened one eye briefly. Hermione stood up.

"Hi there, how are you feeling?" she asked, making sure Saye could see her easily.

She blinked at Hermione, and then half sat up to look at Malfoy sitting on the floor, who had raised his head at Hermione's voice. The little girl's face lit up with a smile, and she made to speak. But she closed it again before she said anything, and replaced the smile with a frown. Hermione had the distinct feeling she was looking at the wall behind her head, instead of at her.

Then she did speak. "Why are you being difficult?" It was oddly condescending, especially coming from a stranger.

"I…" Hermione looked at Malfoy. He shrugged. She turned back to Saye. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about."

She sighed, a weary sound, before settling back into the pillows. "Hurry up," she murmured quietly, before drifting off again.

Hermione was baffled. "What on earth was that about?"

Malfoy closed his book. Hermione didn't like the look in his eye. He looked at her as though she was missing something very obvious, and he was such a royal pain when he turned out to be right. "Haven't you heard about Saye?"

"Should I have?"

He sighed, his disappointment mocking. "Really, Granger. One would have to think you don't care about any of the other patients in the hospital."

"You read their medical records?" She asked, surprise and a growing amount of outrage on her face.

He waved her off. "Whatever. My point is that _this_ is Saye. Or Sarah Yeen. No bells?"

Hermione shook her head slowly as her brain ploughed through a legion of names she had come across during reading. She'd come across precious little material had centered around (or even mentioned) little girls and close to none about any still little or alive today. Malfoy folded his arms again. "Let's do this slowly then. What floor are we on?"

"Psychological wards, fifth degree." She replied irritably. "Can't you even _try_ to be a decent person? Just for a few minutes, I swear."

He ignored her, and continued. "Correct. Fifth degree. Which means, this little girl, Saye, here…?"

"Has suffered some kind of magical-psychological head trauma in which effects are not only long lasting but complete cause, effect and extent of damage is unknown." She recited impatiently. "What's your point?"

"Louthe called her _special_. How more special can you get in a fifth degree psyc ward? There's a squib grandma next door who's so skilled in Legilimency she could've picked the Dark Lord's brain outs. There's another woman here who adopts random pseudo-identities, which have recently been proven to be of real, live wizards walking and talking today, and I've even heard rumors that behind door six there's a man who's seemingly mute for no reason, but all he does is try to scream and rage around and break things without touching them." Malfoy's eyes lost their mocking light, and grew intense. Hermione didn't look away, knowing that he wasn't just pulling her around.

"Get to the point, Malfoy," she whispered, not breaking their eye contact. A quiet corner of her mind wondered how he knew all this and she didn't know any of it, which means he didn't get all this from Louthe herself… She would ask him later.

Malfoy's voice brought her back. It had lowered dramatically. "They think she can see the _future_."

There was one beat of silence, and then Hermione made an irritated noise and leaned away from him. "I know Trelawney was a god awful Divination teacher Malfoy, but Seers do actually exist." She said blithely.

He was suddenly, inexplicably, _extremely_ angry. He grabbed her arm. "Don't treat me like an _idiot_ Granger, and _do not_ lecture me about the wizarding world. Don't think that your little books give you any idea what growing up here is like." His hiss was very soft, and... deadly.

"I've been in this world since eleven, I think it's safe to say that I've pretty much grown up here too." She snapped back, trying to not show her nervousness at his hostility.

He pushed her aside, disgust on his face. "Keep talking shit, Granger, because no one's listening. If you really _grew up here_, you'd know that I would've said _Seer_ if I was talking about the same thing."

"What else could you have meant?" She argued, frustrated.

But Malfoy had strode out of the room, angrier than she had ever seen him, and for once, with a pink tinge to those high cheekbones. She blinked at his sudden absence, and then frowned to herself. She turned towards Saye, but the girl had activated her strange and currently highly _annoying_ talent of being able to sleep at will. She suddenly found herself wishing she hadn't pissed Malfoy off – she was curious now, and there was no one to relieve her of it. She walked over to the chair by the bedside, and settled down.

Saye's features twitched slightly as Hermione studied her face. The bruise – Louthe hadn't told her how she had gotten it – was slowly starting to fade in uneven patches. Without thinking, Hermione reached over and brushed a strand of her hair out of the way, accidentally bumping the purple skin with her knuckles.

Saye's eyes snapped open. Hermione had one second to see her pupils contract to tiny dots before her mouth opened to release a bloodcurdling _scream_.

She looked up in time to see Malfoy and three healers explode into the room, but the nextsecond disjointed images hit her like something solid, thoughts and memories that weren't _hers_, jamming themselves all at once into her head like knives and hammers and drills and all with a crippling pain that had her on her knees but the images just kept _coming_ and all she could see were flashing yellow eyes and fangs and ripping claws and _blood_ and _light_, all chased by a terror so strong she could feel it throbbing on her tongue and it blocked out half of the thoughts that weren't hers but she was trying to think anyway and that heavy mass of terror was also eating at her vision and leaving black chunks in places where she should've been able to see the hospital wall and Malfoy's face and -

Her eyes felt like they were trying to _crawl_ out of her skull. They strained to open wider, _wider_, but never wide enough because she still couldn't _see _past that black wall of _fear_. Clutching her head, Hermione heard voices as if whispering to her from the other side of a door so she told them she couldn't _hear_ them because there was this _screaming_ that wouldn't stop and it was blocking out all the other sounds and –

And it all stopped.

.

It was a strange feeling, waking up.

Her skin crawled if she so much as twitched a finger. Muscles groaned as she flickered her eyelids. Even her face felt stiff.

A strange face swam into focus.

"...ne? Can you hear me? Hey!"

The strange face had a stranger expression on its face – worry. Was that directed at her? How odd.

She tried sitting up. Bad idea – she got halfway and then sank back down again. She blindly tried again – and there was a hand to support her this time. Strange, that a single hand could help so much. She raised a sore arm to rub her sore eyes. She felt like she hadn't been able to move for weeks.

"Wha'appened?" she mumbled.

The strange face made an annoyed sound. Then another dizzy spell hit her, and she only caught the end of his sentence. "...ou're impossible."

She frowned, peering blearily at the strange face, determined to put a name to such rudeness. One shaking hand went out, to trace out high cheekbones, a straight nose, a frown, and soft lips.

"...n the _seven hells_ are you doing?"

She recognized that voice. "Malfoy!" she gasped, leaping backwards. Well, she was expecting there to be a backwards, but there wasn't, and all she did was slam her sore head against the wall. She gurgled a pain noise, drawing her legs up to cradle her head.

"Stop moving," he snapped at her, pulling her towards him. When he let go again, she was leaning back into a pillow.

"Ah. M'kay. Than'gyu." She tried opening her mouth wider, to stop herself slurring. "_Thank_ you. You." She smiled, pleased at her progress. Her eyesight was clearing too. How she didn't know that it was Malfoy... His current expression was one torn between sarcasm and humour. She tried rolling her eyes, but they only got halfway there.

"So, um. What happened?"

"_You're_ asking _me_ what happened?" He _sounded_ incredulous, she couldn't check his face to be sure because he had jostled her and things were all blurry again.

"But. Um, I heard... Ow. Screaming."

He gave her a funny look. "That was you."

Ah. That would explain the sore throat. "And Saye? She okay?"

"Back to sleeping."

"Where am I?"

"Office."

She noted that, as she got better, his answers were less forthcoming and more clipped. She shuffled, and found that she could sit up normally. Next would be to try –

"Oh, no you don't." He pushed her back down. "Tell me what happened."

"Let me stand up," she said irritably, trying to push herself up.

But even with both hands, she couldn't fight the strength he had in that one. How... weak. Sighing, she gave up for the time being. Her head was starting to pound again. She tried to remember what had just happened. "Um, I just touched her. Then –"

_Flash_. A roaring filled her ears. It started again. Yellow. Fear. Scream. Light. Not right.

_Not right. _

_Run._

"-p! He-! Oi- oursef under – ol!"

Words?

Something hit the side of her face, and Hermione jerked back with a loud gasp. She tried focusing her eyesight again, on those grey eyes that looked like storm clouds. A violent tremor racked her. "What-t th-the hell?" she forced through her rattling teeth.

Malfoy snorted. "Don't do that again." He was pinning her to the wall, his hands on both of her arms.

"Er..." She blinked, hard. "What happened that time?"

"Aside from having a fit? You tried to claw my eyes out. Are you going to stop asking the questions you're meant to be answering?"

Pause. _Giggle_. She covered her face with her hands, and choked on the sudden laughter rushing up from her throat.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you lucid? Compos mentis? _Hello_?"

"I think," She panted, "I'm hysterical. I _think_." She thought about it, then laughed again.

"Great." He said sourly. "Bloody fantastic. Stop laughing, tell me what happened before those Healers outside the room storm in and strap you to a gurney and force Veritaserum down your throat."

That shut her up. She frowned as she tried to think back to... how long ago was that? "I... just touched her. Really. I... brushed back her hair, and I think I bumped the bruise on her forehead."

"Okay, you touched her bruise." He repeated slowly. "What happened next?"

"Um... she started screaming. And then..."

_Flash. Blood. _

_Flash. _No,not_ here. _Have to-

"-_ione_! Shit, _ow_! Get a fucking grip on yourself!"

Snapping back, she found herself thrashing against his grip. Gasping for air, she chanted to try and calm herself down. Once her eyes stopped rolling in her sockets, she looked up at Malfoy. And the bleeding scratches down his cheek. "Oh, crap." He looked kinda pissed off. "Er. Sorry?"

"If you even _try_ doing that again," He spat to the side, something red mixing with the saliva. She grimaced, looking away. "If you do, I'm gonna Stun you, and leave you here."

She bit her lip. He frowned at her.

"Flashbacks?"

"I think?"

"Do you want to try again?"

She thought about it. "Do you want to be this close?"

He laughed blackly. "What's a few more scratches? Get on with the bloody story." He wiped his cheek. "No pun intended."

She rubbed her eyes. "Okay. I saw things. I don't know what they were. Like pictures flashing at you too fast. And a lot of screaming, and fear. Oh god, the _fear_ -"

"Hey. No." He shook her, hard. "You're not going crazy again."

His face was too close, she and she was having a hard enough time regulating her eyesight already. She peered blearily at him. "You're too close."

He looked surprised, then something, then went blank. He dropped his arms and walked to the other side of the room. "Far enough?"

She frowned up at him. "Did I say something wrong?"

He opened and closed his mouth, twice. Then sighed. "Is that all? Can you tell me what you saw?"

"I... don't know." She rubbed her temples. "I can't think. I feel funny." She moaned.

"Quit whining." He snapped. "This is serious."

She froze for a second. And then something in her snapped. She swore she heard it. "Fine. _Fine_. _You_ go through what I just did, and let's see if you _whine_ or not!" Shouting was making her head hurt, but she didn't seem to be able to stop now that she'd started. "You know, you're such a pain in the fucking arse, Malfoy. For once in this whole miserable situation can you just try to be nice to me so I feel like I'm not wasting my time trying so hard to be nice to you? Because that's what it feels like. I'm trying and trying, and you don't care at all and sometimes, that really gets to me. Why don't you care?" She stopped, because the throbbing in her temple threatened to burst a vein. Then she groaned. "Now I _am_ whining. Are you happy now? Are you fucking happy?"

There was another silence. And then he started... laughing. She looked up furiously, her scowl thunderous.

"God, Granger." Was all he said.

"Explain." she asked sourly.

Malfoy shook his head, before pointing his wand at his own face and healing the scrapes, still chuckling. He brought over some tissues, took her hand and started wiping the blood off there. She felt disorientated again. "Where did those come from?"

"My face, and yours."

She felt around, and sure enough, there were gashes along her hairline too. They stung as she brushed them. "Fuck. Ow."

Malfoy laughed again, and murmured the healing spell to close the cut on her face too. She wondered at the blood on her hand for a minute, as he dabbed it away. Then she leaned over, and licked it.

Just once.

She froze, and looked up at Malfoy. He was watching her too, surprise skittering across his face. Another pause. But he finished wiping without saying anything, and stood up to throw the tissues away. She stared at her hand, as if something ugly had grown out of one finger and had taken a bite out of the other.

"That was..." she mused to herself. Well. Interesting.

"Ready?" he asked.

She looked up. "For what?"

"Well, standing up. Then facing the crowd out there." He waved at the door. She could see silhouettes moving around behind the rippled glass.

"Um, no. How about we just stay here and you don't open that."

He gave her another funny look. "You want me to do what?"

Hermione waved at him impatiently. Why wouldn't that buzzing go away? "Just... don't open the door. Come sit here." She patted the hard floor beside her dementedly. Malfoy looked at her like she was demented too, but after a while, did come and sit.

There was another little silence. Hermione hung her head, waiting for the buzzing and the pounding to go away. Neither of them said anything, and she marveled at the silence. Silence, just because they had nothing to say, not because one or both of them were too choked up with anger or frustration – or both – to say anything else. The silence was _beautiful_. She sighed, and it was a happy, relieved sound. He gave her the look again.

"Isn't this nice?"

"You're recovering from a psychic attack and I'm sitting on the floor. There are about a dozen Healers outside waiting to pump both of us for information and you're as close to delirious as I think anyone conscious has ever been." He paused. "Oh. We're not fighting. Yeah, okay. This is nice."

There was a silly grin on her face. Was she delirious? Well, she had a pretty damn good reason to be. There was a knock on the door, and she glared at it as if it were threatening her livelihood. Malfoy snickered.

"Are you two okay in there?" someone called. "Can we come in?"

"You can't hide in here forever." He pointed out.

"Mmyeah. Right. 'Kay." But before she got up, she turned to him, jabbing a finger into the middle of his chest. He looked surprised again. "Okay, I'm feeling all bubbly and like, drunk or something. But listen anyway. Now that I know what it's like to half get along with you, I like it too much to get better and have everything go back to the way it was tomorrow. _So_," she stressed, "Tomorrow we're _not_ going greet each other by sniping. Tomorrow, when I see you, I'm going to say Good Morning Mister Draco Malfoy and you're going to say Good Morning Miss Hermione Granger and we're going to be all civil and happy and skip. Okay?"

He looked a bit speechless, but at the same time itching to slap some sense into her. She frowned, thinking over what she had just said. "Okay, not that last bit. Whatever. But everything else. Yes?"

Malfoy looked at her, humour winning as the dominant expression. "Whatever you say."

"Right then." She jumped to her feet. And almost fell on top of him. "Woah. Okay. Not too good."

She clung to the wall, and it took a while for the dizziness to clear. He was at her elbow, alarmed. Holding up a hand, she stumbled towards the door. "I'm good."

Malfoy watched her push back the door, and almost fall into the crowd waiting for her there. A grin tugged at his mouth. Then he followed her out.

.

It took her and Malfoy a while to convince the Healers that talking about what had happened was probably not the best idea. She arranged with Madame Louthe another time in which she promised to go through everything in detail. Still, she arrived back home four hours later than usual (having spent one of those hours unconscious), and had to take a sleeping potion to stop the dreams. And as she predicted, she was better the next day. There was still the mother of all headaches beating a hole into her skull, but all the giddiness and hysterical laughter had gone, leaving her with nothing but a sense of dread as she arrived at St. Mungo's. What the hell was she thinking? Why did she even bother turning up today? Would Malfoy even be able to stop laughing at her long enough to work properly? She snuck along the back walls, hoping not to run into him. Honestly. She made a promise to herself to never get drunk unless it was with people she trusted. She was so busy planning that list she didn't see herself creeping into Malfoy, his back to the skulking figure as he talked with another Healer.

She looked up, and the apology died on her lips. "Oh, shit."

There was a silence as they stared at each other. Something tugged at the corners of his mouth, something like a smile. But that couldn't be right. Then he opened his mouth.

_Here we go_. She looked at him hopelessly.

"Good morning, Miss Hermione Granger."

**

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**AN: **Okay very quickly because I don't usually do this but I just thought how funny would it be if I just ended the fic like that? Haha okay, I am joking, SEE YOU NEXT CHAPTER :D


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